Alcohol
by Expression812
Summary: Tony is less than impressed with a common practice. A bit hypicritical, but hey, who isn't?
1. Freak Out

Alcohol

Anthony Dinozzo Jr. (Tony) hated it when his father started to act this way. When the alcohol soaked into his father's brain, twisted it, so that the man couldn't walk, talk, function. When everything Tony said was whirled into father's brain and contorted into something it wasn't. Everything his father said at this point was mean, degrading and how his old man truly felt about him. The things he said to Tony, got worse as he aged, when he was ten it was that he was a 'spoiled brat', but by 15, his father told him he hated him just about every hour of almost every day he was home. Sometimes, when Anthony Sr. was away on business, he called Tony just to tell him that he was scum, rotten, destined for the slums and cheap hookers, just like his mother. He remembered once, he had a friend over, Kyle, Tony had begged Anthony Sr. dad not to drink while Kyle was there. Anthony accused Tony of being ashamed of him and that it was he who should be ashamed, ashamed of having such a faggot of a son. Kyle ended up calling his parents to come get him, Kyle's parents wanted to take Tony too, wanted to get the authorities involved. Tony wanted to, he did, but he felt responsible, it was his fault his dad drank, he wasn't good enough. Tony always thought if he could do better, be better, his dad would love him. So Tony thanked Kyle's parents and promptly told them that he would be fine. He wasn't fine that was the night that Anthony Sr. beat the living shit out of his 16 year old son with a belt, even now he could hear the whip of the belt hitting him, hear himself crying and begging for his dead mother to save him, for Kyle to save him, for anyone to make it stop.

Tony, now 29, came out of his memories with the echoing of the belt still in his mind. He was standing in Gibbs' basement, Gibbs drinking bourbon and thunking away on his boat, his strikes in time with the belt in his head. It all hit him at once, the smell of alcohol, the sound of hitting, it brought his repressed memories swimming back, finally catching up with him. Tony quickly grabbed Gibbs' hand in an iron grip, "I…I think that'll do, boss."

Gibbs looked at his senior field agent, "You okay, Dinozzo?"

"Fine, boss. Peachy even." Tony replied as he slowly took the bourbon out of Gibbs' hand and quietly walked over to pour it back in the bottle.

"Hey, I was gunna drink that, Dinozzo! Hand it here!"

Tony spun on Gibbs, putting a hand on his boss' chest, "Well, you don't need it! Okay? You… You just don't need it!" Tony grabbed the whole bottle of bourbon and threw it on the ground watching as it shattered.

"Dinozzo! What the hell…"

Tony cut him off, "What the hell do you need it for? Huh?" Tony shouted. "You wanna be like him? You wanna drink so much that you can't recognize your family? You wanna hit me too? Huh?"

Tony took Gibbs' hand, formed a fist an out it to his cheek, "Come on then! Hit me! You need relief, then hit me! Beat the Shit outta me like my old man used to!" Receiving no response, Tony kept egging Gibbs on. "COME ON! Hit me! Take a swing! Hell, use a hammer, a chisel, whatever, just hit me!"

Gibbs' face was hard as he looked at his agent. "No, Tony."

"Why not? Am I not even worthy enough for you to slug me, oh great and powerful Gibbs?"

"No, Dinozzo, you're not worthy of being hit."

Tony looked down, a bitter smirk on his face, "I knew it." He whispered.

Gibbs snapped his fingers in Tony's face to get him to look up, "No one is worthy to be hit by anyone. Especially not by someone you trust. Understand?"

Tony looked away with tight fists and a clenched jaw, but nodded. He looked at the cement wall of his boss' basement and before Gibbs could stop him, Tony hit the wall as hard as he could with his closed fist. There was a sickening series of pops and Tony just stood there and stared at the wall for a minute. Tony looked at his boss, his face cold and said he was sorry about the bourbon and that he would replace it before he walked up the stairs and out of Gibbs' home.

**A/N; Interest? R&R Please!**


	2. Unopened

Alcohol

"Damn it!" Tony Dinozzo shouted, climbing into his car. He sped off, tires screeching, not even sure where he was going.

Tony remembered what happened after his beating, his dad looked at him, didn't say a word, Anthony Sr. didn't need to, his face said it all. '_Pathetic, weak, broken, disfigured, unusable.'_ Tony knelt in front of his father's desk where his dad had trapped him, his hands gripping the edge of the wood for all he was worth, shaking and breathing in deep gasps. Tony had looked over his shoulder and caught his father's gaze and looked back down. Slowly he stood, feeling the movement stretch the skin around his wounds, feeling more blood seep from the gashes. Tony turned to his father and did the one thing that he could do, that his father could never take away, told a joke.

"Maybe next time, we could take the belt buckle off first, dug me pretty good a couple of times."

Tony grinned as his father scowled at him and left the office. Tony stood there, smiling so hard it hurt his face, watching the man he needed the most abandon him, again.

Tony shook his head to rid his mind of the memory. He spotted a convince store and pulled up to it. He stepped out of his car, glancing around the parking lot for threats, a habit he had picked up from Gibbs. He entered to store and went right for the booze. He stood there, looking at the vile liquid that scarred his child hood and well as his back. Tony understood the appeal, hell, he drank occasionally, but he couldn't understand the addiction, the constant need for it, to be willing to do anything to get his hands on any form of it. He grabbed a bottle of vodka and went to the front to pay for it. The whole drive home he remembered the way his father was without the booze, back before his mom died. Granted, even then, he wasn't father of the year, but they at least could sit next to each other at the dinner table, chat about what he had learned in school. He remembered the night his mom died, the way his father had started pickling himself before the death certificate was even signed, how he just rambled about what he was going to do with a 'snot nosed kid'.

Tony pulled to his building, parked in his spot and walked into his home. He scanned the dark apartment, the grey couch and matching arm chair, not new or designer, but new to him and the small area rug with the low coffee table and the many racks of DVDs. Tony sighed and set his keys down and the bottle. He flicked the small kitchen light on and put his hands on the counter staring at the vodka. It was his father's drink of choice, straight, on the rocks with two ice cubes. Tony couldn't count how many times he had made that drink, how many times he had seen his dad spill it all over himself or throw a glass of it at him.

"God." Tony whispered, dropping to his knees, snagging the bottle as he went. He sat on his kitchen floor, back the some cabinets and looking at the liquid in his hand. Tony didn't open it; he tipped it this way and that, listening to the brown, innocent looking liquid slosh around in its bottle. He shook it, watching the bubbles form and pop. Tony picked at the label's corner for a while, no accomplishment in mind. Finally, he set the bottle down, but continued to stare. That liquid, that common, damning liquid had made his life miserable. Tony was shocked to realize that he hated it. He hated everything about it; the taste; bitter and burning, the color; an opaque clear, everything from the design of the bottle to surgeon general's warning.

"I hate you." Tony whispered. "I despise you." He said louder.

Tony watched the bottle continue to stand, almost proudly, mocking Tony with its mere presence. He then took notice of his swollen and bloody hand, he marveled at the rip skin, from experience in wound typing, Tony could tell that the pressure of his blow rip his skin apart, not to mention that cement isn't exactly soft. He flexed his hand experimentally; it cracked as he popped one of his knuckles back into place. Tony sighing, turned his head away and glanced at his watch.

"23:13." Tony observed. Taking one last look at the bottle, he rose, gripping the counter and hissing as he walked on his sleeping foot, leaving the booze standing on his kitchen floor, unopened.

{Next Morning}

Tony woke to his alarm and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Pushing off his bed, he went to shower and dress. Once dressed, he quickly threw together his bed, switched off any lights and went to his living room grabbing his coat. He was walking by his kitchen, on his way out the door, when he noticed he bottle, standing right where he had left it the night before. Tony paused and bent to pick the bottle up. He held it in his hands for a moment, rubbing his hands down the grooves and picking at the label again. Sighing, Tony put the bottle on the counter, grabbed his gym bag and gear, switched off the lights and left the glass structure to the dark of his apartment.

**A/N; Second chapter, still not sure where this is going, it's steering it's self, so we'll see. R&R please. **

**P.S.- Looking for a beta reader to review my NCIS stuff, interested? PM me!**


	3. Talking to One's Self

**A/N; Changed the ending! If you read it once, read it again! Thank you!**

Alcohol

Gibbs sat at his desk, sipping his coffee and glancing at the elevator every so often, checking for Dinozzo. Ziva and McGee were already at their desks, each working on something or other, waiting for the day to start. Gibbs glanced at his watch, 07:05, Tony was five minutes late. Gibbs scowled and glanced at the elevator once again.

Tony stepped off the elevator to see Gibbs looking at him. Tony watched Gibbs watch him as he walked into the bull pen and stow his stuff. Tony sat and booted up his computer, checking his voicemails on his phone while it turned on.

"Where were you, Dinozzo?"

Ignoring his boss' question, he muttered; "Sorry I'm late."

Ziva and McGee watched from their desks as their boss continued to watch the Senior Filed Agent and Tony continued to go about checking his email. Ziva raised her eyebrow at Tony's brashness, but turned back to her report. McGee watched Gibbs get up from his desk, grab his coffee and walk towards the elevator.

"Dinozzo, elevator, now."

Tony got up and caught Tim staring at him. "Back to work, Agent McGee." Tony said sternly.

McGee blushed and went back to his monitor. Tony took his time on his way to the elevator, not stalling but not rushing either. He found his boss standing one foot in the elevator and one out.

"Let's go, Dinozzo." Gibbs pointed in the elevator.

Tony walked in the small cube and waited for the doors to close and the fireworks to start. Gibbs turned to the young man, took in his almost defeated posture and hands in his pockets. _Insecurity?_ Wondered Gibbs. He pushed the emergency stop on the elevator, took a sip of his coffee and waited.

Tony looked at Gibbs, relaxed, one hand at his side the other holding his coffee. Tony grinned as he recognized his boss' interrogation technique, stare until the intimidation grabs hold. He weakly chuckled and suddenly feeling weak, slid to the floor, sitting Indian style. Gibbs raised and eye brow but still continues to stare at Tony. Tony looks up.

"I haven't had a chance to get that bourbon yet, but when I do I'll get it to you pronto, boss."

Gibbs shrugged and took another gulp of coffee, still waiting. Tony shakes his head at him.

"I know you think you need it, boss, that you think it numbs you, pushes your problems and worries to the back of your mind. Well, you wanna know what happens you push them back there? They fester and infect, all the while you're stumbling to bed, happy to have an empty head." Tony looks at the buttons of the elevator. "It makes a fool out of you, makes you forget things, makes peaceful situations harmful to others. It's a drug, boss and just like every other drug, it affects your mind."

"You never said anything before, Dinozzo. Hell, you drink too."

Tony nodded, "I know, I'm a hypocrite."

"Why now?"

Tony looked at his shoes and lent his head against the door of the elevator. "I have my reasons."

Gibbs nodded. "You gunna tell me what they are, Dinozzo?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"It's affecting your work…"

"Because I was late?" Tony interrupted. "Come on, I've been late before."

"Not because of this."

"I wasn't late because of this; I was late because I lost track of time on my run this morning."

Gibbs studied Tony looking for any signs that he might be lying. Gibbs finally nodded, "Alright, don't let it happen again, Dinozzo, and get this whole thing figured out, before it really does affect your work."

Tony nodded and stood as Gibbs let the emergency stop go, shoving his hands in his pockets, Tony walked back in the bull pen and prepare for his day. The whole way he could feel Gibbs eyes on him. No case came in, so Tony was buried in paper work, while he filled in the numerous forms, he let his mind wander. _Does Gibbs really think that I can't keep my personal life out of my work? How many times have I proved that to him? How many times have I put my neck out only to receive a head slap for a comment that was meant to be funny?_ Tony wondered. He looked at Gibbs from the corner of his eye only to catch his boss watching him. Gibbs sat in a reclined position, casually sipping on his coffee, but sprung up when Tony stood.

"Where ya going, Dinozzo?"

Tony looked back at his boss, confused by the panicked look on his boss' face. "Bathroom, wanna come?"

Gibbs was surprised by the blatant sarcasm in his Senior Field Agent's voice and the cat like grin on his face. "Not unless you need help, Dinozzo."

Tony stood, waiting for Gibbs to order him back to his desk.

"Go, Dinozzo." Said Gibbs. He turned back to the bull pen. Ziva and McGee watched Tony's retreating back.

Tony went to the bathroom, checked to make sure no one else was in there and locked the door. He stood back, looking at himself in the mirror, in his fancy suit, nice shoes, without a hair out of place. _I look like my father,_ he thought. Suddenly, his reflection smiled at him, even waved and then began talking.

"Well, Anthony, you must have learned something from the old man, huh? Dress to impress! Maybe take their mind off what a failure you are! Way to think, for once. Can you hit like him? Come on, show me that you aren't him, prove yourself, prove it to me. Prove that you aren't filth, that you belong in this suit." The reflection tugged on the lapels of his suit to emphasize his point.

Tony just stood there, watching his own face mocking him.

"No? Was dear old Daddy right, then? Right when he said that you wouldn't amount to shit? Right that you couldn't hack it, that you didn't deserve the air you're breathing right at this very moment?"

Tony again just tried to process, "This is a hallucination," he whispered.

"Yes, poor Tony, seeing things that aren't there, you'll be fired for sure. So, Dad was right. You fucked up, big time, buddy. Shoulda been more careful that Michigan game, you coulda been getting paid for your brawn, not your brain, but you fucked that up too, didn't you? God, Anthony, you really can't pull your shit together, can you? You know if I was you," the reflection paused to chuckle and lean against the wall in the reflected bathroom, "I am you, aren't I? Well, that just sucks. Anyway, do us both a favor, fall off a bridge, crash your car into something hard, take more than the "recommended dose"," The reflected Tony made air quotes," I don't care how you do it, just drop dead somehow, Dinozzo. Toot sweet, while you're at it. I'm suffering way more than you are, you don't have to listen to yourself."

The reflection grinned at Tony from the mirror. Tony felt anger rise in him so fast that he couldn't control it. Needing to strike something, Tony lunged at the mirror and struck it with his already broken hand, shattering the mirror. Breathing hard, Tony watched his face in the broken mirror. Sighing, he turned his attention to his bleeding hand.

"Shit," he cursed, as he took in more swelling and more blood.

Carefully, Tony wrapped a wad of paper towel around his hand and headed out of the bathroom, not quite sure how he was going to explain it. Tony paused just outside of the bathroom, thinking over his options. _Go home, go back to work or just go?_

**A/N; So, a little angst here… hope you like it! Oh my goodness! Thank you guys SO much for all your reviews! They've really helped me keep chugging away at this story! Thank you, thank you, thank you! :D Chapter 4 will be up either today or tomorrow, remember to review! :)**


	4. Autopsy

Alcohol

Tony stood; with his hand ready to push open the bathroom door, thinking. _How to handle this? _He wondered. Leaving would just back up Gibbs' theory that it is interfering with his work, but Gibbs isn't really a touchy feely person to begin with, so talking to him would get him _nowhere._ McGee was a possibility, but Probie just seemed so _young_ to Tony, getting him involved in this felt like he was stealing his innocence, Tony knew it would happen someday, but he sure as hell did _not _want to be the one doing it. Ziva asked _way _too many questions, how was he supposed to answer her questions when he had no answers to his own? Abby would worry herself sick over this, literally and the last thing Tony wanted was to hurt another person because of his bullshit. The only other people he was close enough to talk about this with was either Ducky or Jimmy, but Jimmy is not nor ever will be, good at keeping his mouth shut, the last thing he needed was all of NCIS knowing he was crazy. Decision made by process of elimination, Tony exited the bathroom and quickly skirted by Gibbs' gaze to the elevator. On the ride down, Tony couldn't help but replay what his hallucination had said to him, _Was dear old Daddy right, then? Fall off a bridge, crash your car into something hard, take more than the "recommended dose. I don't care how you do it, just drop dead somehow, Dinozzo._

"Oh God." Whispered Tony as the elevator doors opened. Tony stepped out and paused before he entered Autopsy, straitening his shoulders and giving his head a quick shake to clear it. Briefly, Tony allowed himself to wonder if what he was about to do was sealing his fate, ensuring his future of mental hospitals and daily visits to a therapist. He didn't want that, he knew that people went the therapist everyday and lived fairly normal lives, but he just had this feeling that it wouldn't work out that way for him. _Ducky won't do that to me, will he? _Tony wondered. Swallowing down his fear, he stepped in to see Ducky sipping some tea and reading some documents, but he turned when Tony walked in.

"Why hello, Anthony."

"Hi, Ducky." Tony continued to look at the old ME, standing in an awkward silence, just inside the door, which closed behind him, making him feel trapped.

"What can I help you with today, my dear boy?" Tony took his injured hand out from behind his back, showing the blood soaked paper towels, its massive swelling and immobile digits.

"Good heavens! What happened, Anthony?" the ME gently took Tony's hand in his own and Ducky carefully peeled the paper towels off, revealing numerous cuts and misplaced bones.

"Well, Duck, you see two things happened and their both long stories and…" Ducky interrupted him.

"It's a good thing then, Anthony, that it will take me some time to stitch the wounds that need it and to put your finger bones back where they belong. You can tell me while I work."

Tony took a deep breath and began; "You know I didn't have an ideal childhood, don't you, Duck?" Ducky nodded. "Well, my father was a drinker, a heavy one at that, and when he drank it wasn't him anymore, I didn't know him when he drank. I took me a long time, but I finally realized I knew the real Anthony Dinozzo Sr. because he was drunk all the time. The man that he played when sober was a mask for the outside world to see, for him to hide his habit behind. One night, he… well, some bad stuff happened," Tony hissed as Ducky began stitching and Tony took a moment to concentrate how weird it was to have Ducky pulling in his skin like that and not be able to feel anything but pressure. "Anyway, something bad happened and I thought I had repressed the memory, but the other night in Gibbs' basement, it came back to me and the memory and Gibbs lined up, almost perfectly." Tony looked from his hand to the ground. "I freaked out on him a little bit, well okay, a lot. I told him he didn't need to drink and that if he needed to blow off steam that he should just hit me." Tony paused and shook his head. "Looking back, it was stupid; Gibbs woulda knocked me into next week. Of course, he refused and I got upset, more upset, and ended up punching his cement wall." Tony paused and licked his lips. Ducky looked up from his work.

"You said there were two, Anthony."

"I know, Ducky. It's just, I don't think you'll believe me or worse, you'll commit me on the spot."

"Listen, Anthony, in our line of work, no one is without their quirks, everybody experiences different symptoms when under extreme stress, the stress from remembering when the "bad stuff" happened, surely affected you just as a long, stressful case would have. It's best just to tell me or someone. You might not want to talk about it, but it may just throw you the life preserver you've been looking for."

"This isn't about being in love with lawn knobs or playing online games, I'm hallucinating, Ducky."

Ducky had finished stitching and was about to start setting Tony's fingers, but stilled when he heard Tony's confession.

"And what is it you're seeing?"

"Myself, well in the mirror in the bathroom upstairs, my reflection starting talking to me, telling me I looked like my father and I should prove myself, put me out of my misery."

"When you say out of misery, you mean…"

"Kill myself, yes." Tony nodded and looked away, while Ducky looked at him skeptically.

"Do you agree with this voice, Anthony? Do you feel compelled to do what he says?"

"No, him comparing me with my father, telling me to off myself, it made me so mad. So mad, that I punched out the bathroom mirror."

Ducky paused. "Have you told Gibbs any of this?"

Tony's eyes widen a fraction of an inch. "No, he already told me to get this mess cleaned up before it started to affect my work."

Ducky frowned, "I'd say it has, my dear boy."

Tony chuckled humorlessly, "Me too, Duck, me too."

Tony started to rub his good hand up and down his leg, like he was trying to rub the situation out of existence.

"Well, Anthony, I'd say you should go home, tell Gibbs you're going to work out your problems, go home, watch a movie relax, order a pizza you like so much and give your brain some time to sort through this. Go to bed early, take a sleeping pill if you need to, then come talk to me in the morning."

Tony nodded, liking the sound of not taking off like a shot and actually thinking things through before he acts, look at all the angles for once. Sure he did it every day at work, but Tony had never really learned to translate it to his personal life. Ducky finished up with Tony's hand while Tony was washed away by his thoughts. He wrapped the hand in gauze first and then broke the bad news.

"Well Tony, without even needing an X-ray, it is clear that you need a cast. There is too much damage to go without one."

Tony grimaced, "Do I have to go to the hospital for that?"

Ducky shook his head, "No, I still have the supplies from when Abby broke her arm and kept cutting her cast off, unfortunately, all I have is purple."

Tony looked Ducky in the eye and said, "I'll find a way to incorporate it into my wardrobe."

An hour later, Tony came out of Autopsy with a brand new, dark purple cast on his left arm. _And now to go home,_ he thought. Deciding that a subtle exit was required, Tony slipped out the back door on the ground floor of the building, avoiding Gibbs all together, going against Ducky's advice.

McGee came out of the bathroom confused, why would someone break the mirror in there?

**A/N; Sorry for the delay, I went camping for a week. At first I thought this was too predictable, but with a few tweaks, I threw in some good twists I think. R&R please!**


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